


Unexpected Resolutions

by Wil



Category: Silmarillion, harry potter series
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wil/pseuds/Wil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossover - Neville's friendship with Galadriel and Aredhel puts him more or less in a pickle with Galadriel decides to be proactive about certain things. Multiple POVs. Implied Galadriel/Fingon if you look for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [](http://sharzzz.livejournal.com/profile)[**sharzzz**](http://sharzzz.livejournal.com/) who wanted One of your chars and Neville. Perhaps one of them writing a letter to Neville.

  
Galadriel was sitting at the white stone table in the vast greenhouse which her cousin has made for her, years ago, now. Her brow was filled with seriousness as she scribbled on the parchment in clean, illegible script.

Her decision had been hard to take – but matters were getting dire, and she felt that she had been on the sidelines for too long. Millenia. Eons. Uncounted lifetimes.

The Tengwar script flowed onto the page, slowly, with quiet application. She heard footsteps – the hesitancy was characteristic, and she quickly poured sand over the leaf before she rolled it onto the finely carved rod of cherry wood.

By the time Neville entered the greenhouse, Galadriel was busy gently cleaning a small bush from a budding infestation and whispering to the plant, or perhaps to the bugs – it was hard to tell.

“My lady,” Neville said, and he was shifting from one foot to the other, hesitantly. No matter how gentle and soothing Galadriel had been, perhaps by sheer virtue of her age, she'd never quite managed to make him entirely at ease. All the same, her decision was made, and she was nothing if not stubborn – a true daughter of the House of Finwë.

“It's good to see you, Neville,” she told him kindly. “How is your warehouse coming along?”

“It's – alright,” he said hesitantly. “But it might take a while. I think the winter will probably undo all that's been done so far. It's just not moving fast enough.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Sometimes, matters fix themselves faster than you would expect them to.” Her manner was almost mysterious, but then again, when was it not? Neville nodded – not knowing what to say to that, or perhaps he didn't want to state the obvious. “I would like you to do me a favor, if you could,” she told him again, head tilted to the side.

“Yes, my lady?”

“This is for you.” She held out the scroll with both hands, ceremoniously – she needed to take a step to be closer to the young man, and it was a glide, silent, as if she were walking on air. “Please do not open it until tomorrow night. If you have difficulty with it, please visit my cousin Aredhel Ar-Feinel. I know you are close to her heart.”

Neville reached out to take the parchment slowly, as if it might burn him, and she gave him a serenely encouraging smile. “Tomorrow,” she said again, “and not before.”

* * *

The following night, Neville sat on his bed, staring at the scroll. “These elves and their mysteries,” he murmured to himself, what to do with them? He had almost contemplated visiting the Merlin, or asking Harry about it, but eventually, his decision had been to visit the black-haired motherly elf. She was soothing, and he trusted her. She would know.

Try as he might, the script had made no sense to him – it was beautiful, but he couldn't even read the first pictograph.

He came upon the White Lady of the Noldor in the kitchen. It was a rare scene – she was in the arms of an elf, the tallest being he'd ever seen, and they were holding one another tenderly, forehead to forehead. The tall elf tensed, his face shifting from a state of utter relaxation to complete tension, and Aredhel turned in his embrace. “Neville!” She smiled brightly, and her husband – he would soon come to know – seemed to find her greeting sufficient acceptance.

“Neville Longbottom,” she said, disengaging from the intimate embrace, “this is my husband, Tyelkormo Turcafinwë.”

Tyelkormo didn't seem to appreciate the interruption, and he raised an eyebrow that seemed to say, “This had better be good.”

“I – I can come another time,” Neville said hurriedly, “I'm very sorry -” but finding his ground again, he held the scroll out to Aredhel. “Lady Galadriel gave me this, and I can't make sense of it.” That had Tyelkormo's attention, and he looked from his wife to the young wizard inquiringly. “She said you would help me understand it,” he added seriously, and without fear.

Aredhel's hand trembled as she unrolled the scroll. She and Galadriel had never been close, but this was highly irregular and made her very nervous.

Aloud, she read the letter to Neville, and with his permission, to Tyelkormo – which was a good thing as the Feänorian might not have accepted to be kept out of this discussion about one of his best friends.

The letter read as follows,

“Dear friend,

By the time you have found my cousins and had them read this letter to you, I will be well on my way. Ireth, I know that you are reading this – and I know that Tyelko is with you.” There was a pause, and Aredhel frowned. Her Finarfinian cousin was always flaunting her gifts, and it displeased her. “Rest assured that your brother is not kept uninformed of my plans – we have left together this morning in the youngest hour to seek our missing kin.”

Here, Tyelko paused, and looked dismayed. “To the Enemy's stronghold?”

Ireth paused, stared at him, then at Neville who looked concerned. “It would seem so,” Ireth replied, frowning.

“In my absence,” the letter went on, “I would be grateful if you were to take hold of the greenhouse as though it were yours. Our absence may be long – too long, and those who remain will need the greenhouse's bounty. I trust you, Neville Longbottom, and your love of the herbs, of everything that grows, to keep what I started flourishing.”

There were further instructions that followed – the needs of various elven plants which Galadriel had judged might be out of Neville's range of knowledge. After a moment, Ireth stopped reading. Tyelkormo was pacing like a lion in a cage, and she stepped over to soothe him, or to be soothed. It was her brother who had left, without as much as a letter, but she understood well enough. He knew that she would never have let him go.

“My cousin trusts you greatly,” she told Neville when the commotion was settled. “And so do I. It is meet that you have come here, elf-friend.”

As Neville wandered back to his room, he couldn't help but wonder what pickle he'd just thrown himself in.


End file.
